Nesting
by Ayngel
Summary: Scrapper 's mind is filled with strange thoughts during the pre-replication 'receptive' time, while Hook struggles to contain his lust. Well their creative instincts come to fruition? Adult/sticky/mechpreg.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own transformers, or make any money from this story.

***Content Warnings*:** This fic contains mechsex, of sticky, plug and play and spark varieties. It contains mechpreg, and is all about replication among Transformers, sparklings, parenthood and the trials and tribulations of youngling-rearing. Please don't read if you have an aversion to any of these things.

**Contuinuity:** G1 Season 3

**Characters:** Hook and Scrapper (and all the Constructicons) and later, First Aid

**Summary:** Scrapper can't imagine what's in store when he starts to experience strange but strong drives and emotions.

**Notes:** This chapter initially written as a oneshot but there's been more since and it will be on here soon. Chapters get longer, too.

* * *

**~~NESTING~~**

**~By Ayngelcat~**

* * *

Datapads and papers littered the table in front of the Constructicon leader. Yet, the more Scrapper looked at the plans, the harder it was to grasp the contents.

_Why_? Scrapper still could not figure it out. The proposed new base on Delta Pavonus was a perfectly straightforward construction on a geologically uncomplicated planet. So why was he finding it so hard to grasp the overall picture and stages, into which he always dispatched his team with such adept efficiency?

But the loader's thoughts were jumbled, as though his logic arrays could not form a coherent order. And instead of technicalities, there were other very impractical notions in his processor.

Like – what a _pleasant_ place this planet was. How the climate was nice, and many races lived in apparent harmony. How it was out of the main thoroughfare between here and Junction Seventeen, and well away from Quadrant sixty six, and hadn't been targeted by the Quintessons.

And how, even though they were building yet another outpost here for Galvatron, it would be another that was a token, a mere statement of his presence. The Decepticon leader would rarely use or even visit it. How much better if the Constructicons could tailor it to their own needs. Build instead – a _home _for themselves.

Yesss – Scrapper stared at the plans, not taking them in. A_ real_ home; something that wasn't just transient lodgings in another of Galvatron's camps. Somewhere they could be safe and _be together_ and build things; why, they could take up trumpet playing again, and Scrapper could fill the place with memorabilia and other fond Constructicon type stuff. They could all be – a _family._

A _Constructinest. _Why had he never thought of this before?

Scrapper's spark pained. A tear made its way down his cheek, one landing on the datapads in front of him. Oh no – now this was ridiculous! What if Bonecrusher came charging in here suddenly and saw him all _like this?_ Worse, what if some _other _Decepticon turned up and saw it? The Constructicons would be a laughing stock; he, Scrapper, undoubtedly demoted.

And what did they want, _anyway_, with a permanent base? Weren't they enjoying the traveling life, coupled with the esteem from being - to a certain extent - _the ones who got Galvatron where he was?_

Scrapper straightened in the chair, sniffing and brushing the fluid away. Firmly, he shut off his optical conduit reservoirs. This was simply absurd!

But all that did was make Scrapper's spark ache unbearably; and even though the Constructicon leader made a supreme effort to examine the plans afresh, to thoroughly absorb their contents, he still could not stop the longing for comfortable, homely things from invading his processor.

There was no escape. He would have to talk to Hook about this.

….

Hook sighed. So engrossed was Scrapper in wrestling with the unfamiliar emotions that he had not even noticed his team mate appear in the doorway behind him.

But Hook had been here for a while, grappling with sensations of his own as he watched his team-mate's helpless display of sentimentality. Hook knew exactly what was wrong with Scrapper - even if Scrapper had no idea himself.

When it came to pre-replication 'states' Hook was, after all, still something of an expert. Even if that was in the somewhat distant past now, and even if he had never hung around after the actual sequence and resulting creations, and had no idea who or where they were.

Scrapper shifted. Hook took in the view from this angle, the chunky grey thigh; the aft with the purple pelvic armour, the backstruts and the shovel with the sensitive hinges and hydraulics. The outline of Scrapper's face was just visible, maskless for once; the strong chin and smooth facemetal. The crane wondered if their creation would look like Scrapper – would have the same even features and large optics. Or would it have Hook's own more aquiline profile and deepset, fiery orbs?

_Their creation_. Desire surged from Hook's core, radiating outwards, blazing a hot, tingling path through his circuits, radiating to his extremities. His spike pressurized, hard, as all his interface systems clicked into _combined_ _replication_/_protoform initiation standby _mode. The pressure rose sharply in his conduits, as his procreative chambers filled with fluid.

Hook allowed the sensation to wash through him, almost whimpering with the need to fully commence the sequence. But in practiced form, he vented several times, managing to keep the noise to a minimum as he injected much needed coolant into his systems and forcibly calm the urges.

Primus, this sequence was hard to contain! Hook didn't know that he could do that for very much longer.

But he would have to choose the right time. Replication was a delicate process. If Hook did not get the approach right - if Scrapper was improperly prepared or alarmed when the sequence initiated - then the interface could mismatch. And whilst that wouldn't detract from what was going to be seriously awesome sex - Hook fought back another swathe of desire - it wouldn't result in a protoform implant.

Scrapper put down the datapad he'd been studying, and picked up another. His shoulders hunched, tense, in the effort of concentration and he brushed again at his optics. A wave of fondness went through Hook, desire dissolving to an ache in the crane's spark. Once Scrapper understood - Hook suspected - an aborted sequence could only result in one sparkbroken loader.

On the other hand, Hook would have to do something soon. The others had not picked up on Scrapper's receptive state as yet, but they would; and the thought of a hatchling joining them in a vorn or so that was _not_ a combination of him and Scrapper was not appealing.

In fact, it was anything but. Quite apart from the fierce, competitive possessiveness which threatened to engulf Hook at the mere notion, he imagined the thoroughly unpleasant results; the whining offspring of Long Haul, or Scavenger's inevitably delinquent spawn. How hard to live with would be Bonecrusher's angry and difficult creation? And as for a Mixmaster mix – that didn't even bear thinking about.

Besides, Hook thought smugly, his own programming was immensely superior. Articulate, vocational, and tinged with Alpha caste specifications. The combination of it and Scrapper's would make for a very fine specimen indeed. It was maybe touching to think of giving Scrapper, a 'choice.' But really, there wasn't one.

Scrapper was in tears again, fluid dripping on to the datapad he now clutched. Hook tutted – but could not help but feel uncharacteristically sentimental again. This was, of course, not untypical for the potential co-replicator either. They would just both have to accept that it was part of the process, and not get over anxious about keeping up the 'tough Decepticon act' for now.

So long as nobody saw them outside the team, it would be all right …

Hook cleared his throat, and Scrapper looked around. His tear-filled optics followed Hook with a mixture of relief and confusion as he walked across. Hook gently removed the pad from Scrapper's hand. He put it down. Then he curled his own hand around Scrapper's, a pang ripping through his spark when Scrapper hung on to the hand as he sat down.

"What's wrong with me?" Scrapper whimpered. "There must be some medical reason for this? Surely you ought to be able to figure it out, Hook?"

"I have," Hook said, in a voice filled with the overwhelming and extraordinary affection he felt. Looking into Scrapper's optics, he ran a finger down the smooth, moist cheek.

"Have you ever thought about ..." he paused, "there being more than one of you?"


	2. Chapter 2

**~~Nesting~~**

**By Ayngel**

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I do not own transformers, or make any money from this story.

***Content Warnings*:** This chapter contains angst, fluff and talk of mechpreg and replication. The entire fic contains mechsex, of sticky, plug and play and spark varieties. It is about mechpreg, and about replication among Transformers, sparklings, parenthood and the trials and tribulations of youngling-rearing. Please don't read if you have an aversion to any of these things.

**Contuinuity:** G1 Season 3

**Characters:** Hook and Scrapper (and all the Constructicons) and later, First Aid

**Summary:** Emotions flare when Hook breaks the news to Scrapper and they discuss the future.

Thanks to reviewers and favoriters for the first chapter :)

* * *

**Chapter 2**

There was a brief interlude where Scrapper's optics filled with wonder.

"W-what ...? You mean - a little one?" His face lit up, simple happiness blending with incredulity. "A little Constructicon, all of our own? For us to make a home for and bring up?"

"Yes," Hook smiled, glowing inside. Warm feelings and desires simmered deeply. Scrapper had never looked so beautiful.

But then, things changed. Like a patient who'd believed his life saved being told that his days were now numbered, the joyous look was replaced by one of despair, then near panic.

"But Hook, how can I?" Scrapper cried. "How could I possibly, in my wildest dreams? I mean - what about my responsibilities? And how would I_ ever_ find the time to look after it?"

Hook placed a hand on his arm "Scrapper ..." he began. But the look Scrapper gave him was resolute – if tortured. "No, Hook! I'm a leader," he said firmly, breaking away. "The Constructicons would never cope without me."

A wretched look came about him. Hook's spark ached at the obvious internal war between Scrapper's ever present concern for his team and the tragedy of a newly fledged dream that had been swept away before it could begin.

"No, no, no, it just wouldn't work." Scrapper's voice was almost a wail. "I couldn't _possibly!"_

...

Hook had managed to get Scrapper sitting down again. Tears streaked the leader's face, and he still looked most unhappy. But at least he was now receptive about creation again.

And hopefully in the way Hook wanted; for the ache in the crane's spark – not to mention his interface relays – had never been so intense.

"I don't know." Scrapper was saying. He ran a hand over his helm. "I just don't know…"

"Its OK …" Hook put an arm around the green shoulders. Scrapper throbbed under it, warm and spark breakingly vulnerable. Hook pulled him close, and Scrapper leaned into the green and purple chassis, where he rested his head, blinking out tears that ran down the smooth metal and into Hook's transformation seams.

Hook put both arms around Scrapper and pulled him close, filled again with tender, almost painful affection. Often, the crane had paused to wonder what might happen if one of them became replication-receptive, had fantasized about being a co-creator again. Never had he thought it would be Scrapper- or realized that he would want to be the leader's choice so much.

But Hook did; and not just for the rush when the all consuming urges rendered the sequence so hard to resist. His spark flared as he rested his cheek on the top of Scrapper's helm and gently caressed the struts of his loader. Incredible though it still seemed, he genuinely ached to _be _with Scrapper; for them to be - parents.

Scrapper still trembled. His fingers plucked at Hook's chest. "I just don't know what to do!" he whispered.

Other thoughts were running through Hook's processor. Like the need for a proper _Constructicon _upbringing – with Decepticon ideals of course. The pride there would be when _their creation_ became a construction mech, or an architectural engineer like Scrapper. Maybe it would even be a medic like himself...

Another painful surge in Hook's chest. This had to work out.

Scrapper trembled in his arms. "It'll all right," Hook said, pleased with the note of 'responsibility' in his own voice. "Everything will be fine, Scrapper."

This time, Scrapper said nothing. He melted into Hook, and Hook mouthed at his helm and stroked him, liking this a great deal. "You're part of a team, "he murmured. "We'll all share the burden. Our creation will grow to be a product of all our efforts."

And this was so. Even if the rest would need some firm instruction in forthcoming times about inappropriate behaviour and the dangers of negative influences.

"Mmnnn …" for a moment, Scrapper seemed to agree. But then, he pushed Hook back, looking at him with optics widened, as though struck with an epiphany. _Oh no,_ Hook thought. _Now what?_

Scrapper pulled away. "Indeed, the others, Hook!" he cried. "What about them? Should they not be given the choice of co-creatorhood? And ..." he turned away, and Hook could feel a flurry of thoughts - most unwelcome thoughts, he suspected with a sinking spark - whirring through Scrapper's processor.

"What about mechs _outside _the gestalt?"

Scrapper turned back, his optics sparkling a bright crimson. "Would that not lead to an optimum program mix, to ultimately a more balanced robot?" he said excitedly.

...

Hook could not even look at Scrapper. Arms folded, he glared at the floor. His hands clenched tightly as Scrapper continued his deliberations, apparently completely unaware of the catastrophic effect of what had just been suggested.

Hook still could hardly believe it, did not _want _to believe it. The other Constructicons, he had expected proposals about, been ready to mount an argument against their 'suitabilities.' But these _other_ 'prospects?' They had taken him horribly by surprise.

Like acid on an open wound, the names seared into Hook's spark.

The Autobot _Grapple_ had been the first name to issue forth. That had been hardly unexpected; and, Hook supposed, not entirely preposterous. At least the mech was another crane and had some intelligence and finesse.

But Hook had not done more than grunt acknowledgement; and that mainly to hide the devastation - and now humiliation- that burned bitterly inside him.

It had gotten worse. Hot Spot's name had come next. Hook had looked at Scrapper incredulously. "You can't be serious!" he'd said. "Him? He's so straight, and Autobot, and full of unwavering loyalty to that idiot Rodimus that its painful! And the same goes for Grapple if you think about it."

"Yes, but maybe another gestalt leader would be a good idea," Scrapper had said, fussing up and down now as he voiced his thoughts. "A 'bot might be a good counterbalance, Hook. With Galvatron the way he is, I can see a time when Autobots and Decepticons …"

"Oh rubbish!" Hook had snapped. "Just because this is a life changing event and Galvatron's a lunatic it doesn't mean you forget what we stand for, Scrapper!"

"All right – well what about a Decepticon gestalt leader then?" And then he'd said it:_ Motormaster._

Hook had reeled inside and fought a sudden urge to purge, violently as rage swept through him. _How could Scrapper even think that?_

"You're' right …." The non-comprehendible sounds Hook had made must have made his feelings obvious. "That's probably not a very good choice."

"Oh hallelujah; and thank Primus for sensibility!" Hook had snapped.

Now, Scrapper had stopped pacing. He was looking at Hook, his hands on his hips. He seemed to glow, to have suddenly embraced, after all, this situation of procreating himself. "Well what about Onslaught?" he said. "He's OK, you know. We've always gotten on well and he's here on Delta Pavonus…"

_Onslaught!_ Hook felt his own hand metal crush as his fists tightened and unprocessed energon sloshed sickeningly in his chamber. Yes – the Combaticon leader had always had a soft spot for Scrapper, had frequently given him _the optic._ They sometimes had _little chats _and outings. And Scrapper _knew_ what Hook thought about that.

Hook turned away, beyond furious. The next time that brutish creation needed a service, Hook would see to it that by the time he'd finished, Onslaught wasn't even _capable _of co-creation.

Then his spark burned afresh and tears pricked his optics. One thing was crystal clear: Scrapper wanted a_ leader_ to take advantage of his new found ability to replicate. Clearly, a lowly member of his own team was not sufficient. And neither was he, Hook.

The pain in Hook's spark sharpened unbearably. Even he, the one without whom Devastator would not have been possible, was not in the running.

Scrapper was still talking, but Hook had not even heard the last dozen or so sentences. Whatever they were about - Onslaught or some other hurtful, outlandish suggestion - Hook didn't want to hear it.

"We should summon the others," Hook heard now as he 'tuned' back in, struggling to cope. After all these eons he had found something he really wanted – only to have it dashed and shattered, trodden into the ground like something worthless.

"We must ask their opinions," Scrapper went on. "As you have been saying, Hook, this is a group effort. We must ask them who they think would be most ..."

"Oh I don't know, why BOTHER? Since you seem to have it all _worked out!"_ Hook spat the words out, unable to contain himself, the bitterness in his voice cutting the air like a scythe.

Scrapper paused in mid-sentence. He gaped at Hook, his expression one of genuine surprise. But Hook wasn't hanging around to hear any more. Scrapper had said all he'd needed to say.

"I'll leave you to it!" Hook snapped. Brushing away the tears, doing his best to stifle the emotions which threatened to swallow him, the crane strode for the door.

...

"Hook, wait!"

A stricken note was clear, the hand that caught at Hook's arm was clutching and desperate. Hook tried to shake it off, to charge out and away into the Delta Pavonian night without so much as a backward glance. To tell the others he was leaving – immediately. Clearly, he had no place among the Constructicons.

But he did look back – he could not help it. And there were Scrapper's fear filled optics as he stared in horrified non comprehension.

"Hook, don't go. Please – I need you. But I must make the best choice for the Constructicons' future. What's wrong with that?"

And he genuinely could _not_ see, Hook realized. And he was being his _leaderly_ self. But Hook's spark still burned, hurt and destroyed. It changed nothing. Scrapper wanted – somebody else.

And Scrapper _should_ see. Was he not, apart from anything else, Hook's leader? Should he not be sensitive to all the needs of all his team? He had lacked that. He intended making another berth. He could lie in it.

"If you can't see what you're doing, then too bad, I don't have time to enlighten you!" Hook snarled. Yet he lingered in the doorway, unable to leave those sad and bewildered optics. They stared into his, wanting him to be there, to be supportive in this time of need.

Hooks chest tightened, and without even thinking he offlined his optics, opening the gestalt bond wide and let his seething emotions flow into it, a swirling sea of the hurt and disappointment he felt. He was conscious of time passing, only the sighing of their intakes punctuating the tense silence as realization dawned in Scrapper.

"Hook!" Scrapper gasped. "That was crazy of me. I just didn't think ...I didn't know …." Hook onlined his optics to see Scrapper's face looking wretched. "_How was I to tell if you were for real!"_

That was a little different from what Hook expected. "What do you mean?"

"Of course I wanted it to be you, Hook. But I know you've never felt about me how I do about you. I was ..."

Scrapper swallowed, "I thought you might just be suggesting yourself out of duty. When you said that about all of us, I thought I should have a wider perspective. I think. I'm so confused, Hook …"

Hook certainly believed that. He softened a little. But he was still angry. This latest was just – ridiculous. How could Scrapper be so _dense?_

Scrapper was looking at him pleadingly; Hook had a momentary urge to take him in his arms again, but the names of _those others_ still burned and he resisted. He did, however, come properly back into the room. The door clicked behind him. "Didn't you listen to anything I said?" He could not help snapping.

Scrapper opened his mouth to reply. Then, he changed. An indignant look came over him; the sort of look that he got when standing up for Constructicon rights; that had done as much to guarantee his place as their leader as his skills in the trade. A look that Hook – his resistance ebbing pathetically – had always liked. A lot.

"I was looking after all of our interests!" Scrapper's chin jutted out.

Hook felt his circuits melt. He _was _beautiful. But no – it didn't make things any better. Hook wanted to grab him and shake him. "So this_ isn't_ about some notion that I don't care!" he snarled. "Its about you finding other mechanisms superior. Well I tell you this, Scrapper – if you think that way then so be it. But _don't _insult me by expecting me to find one of _them_ 'in our interests' as you insist on putting it."

But Scrapper stood his ground, his expression resolute. "I've a right to think outside the square, Hook! You can't deny that you've never committed – certainly not to me, at times not even really to this outfit. Obviously, from the little you've told me, this is a passionate exercise. When all that's done and I'm carrying and reality has set in, how do I know you'll stick around?"

Feelings still swirled through the bond; And Hook could see, now_._ It wasn't untrue. He found himself thinking again of his previous 'creation experiences,' of how he had not the slightest notion of where one of them was, of whether the implants had even actually succeeded.

And Scrapper? Of course he would be afraid of that. Had he not always worshipped the ground Hook walked on; had given up another life for him, had stuck by him through thick and thin?

Yes - Scrapper would always have done anything for Hook. But he would also have done anything for the team; was pragmatic and leader enough always to ensure in any opportunity that the Constructicons came off best. Including in this instance – if there were the slightest doubt about his co-creator.

_I've pushed him away._ Hook thought. _I've gone and ruined this. Now that I want it._

But Scrapper had changed again. He looked into Hook's optics, his own a crimson reflection of the emotions in both their sparks.

"Hook ...?" Scrapper's voice was little more than a whisper.

Trembling, Hook struggled to contain himself. "You're special, Scrapper," he mumbled. "I might not always have shown that, but I've always thought it. I'm not very good when it comes to feelings. Its just that now..."

And then he could not help himself, he caught Scrapper's hands and pulled him to him. "Mine," he whispered. "I want this creation to be mine, I want _you _to be mine. And that's how it is."

"Hook…" Scrapper opened his mouth to speak. But instead, simply melted.

And then he was in Hook's arms, his chest throbbing warmly against Hook's. He buried his face in Hook's neck, his vents heating the cords. "I believe you," he said. "I never thought in my wildest dreams that I'd be a creator, but if that ever happened..." his embrace tightened, "I _never_ would have wanted anyone else. I think I just needed to hear you say that. I'm sorry..."

The fierce longing Hook had been fighting ever since this whole thing began surged violently; and then he was kissing Scrapper passionately, and Scrapper was kissing him back; hands swept possessively over each others' frames. Sparks crackled, heat searing Hook's core as the pre-replication sequence initiated, this time with urgent compulsion.

And Scrapper was right there with him. "I don't think we should wait," he was squirming against Hook, his hands clutching metal. "I don't think I can."

"Scrapper …." Hook vented deeply as he kissed the loader, _his_ loader. He felt the universe crumble as he was hauled towards a precipice, one from which he had no choice but to go over, and now had not the slightest inclination to resist.

"Lets' not then," he whispered.

And there was more to the urgency than passion, for a return to Scrapper's previous thinking could not be risked. Hook supposed, as he spared the matter one more brief thought, that fleeting fantasies about possible co-creators in newly activated replicators were not a rare occurrence. It was all part of the process.

Onslaught wouldn't be interested, of course - he knew that logically too. And there was no way his creation would be as good as Hook's. And Scrapper had seen the truth of that, and Hook's feelings, now. But it was as well they got on with this. Before Scrapper ever had the chance to think of Onslaught - or anyone else - again.

_More very soon!_


	3. Chapter 3

**~~Nesting~~**

**By Ayngel**

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I do not own transformers, or make any money from this story.

***Content Warnings*:** This chapter contains explicit sticky, spark and p&p sex, with the intention of 'impregnation'. The entire fic contains mechsex, of sticky, plug and play and spark varieties. It is about mechpreg, and about replication among Transformers, protoforms, sparklings, parenthood and the trials and tribulations of youngling-rearing. Please don't read if you have an aversion to any of these things.

**Contuinuity:** G1 Season 3

**Characters:** Hook and Scrapper (and all the Constructicons) and later, First Aid

**Summary:** As for this chapter: Hook and Scrapper's lust takes a hold - but it might not be all plain sailing.

Thanks to reviewers and favoriters so far :)

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Never had Scrapper wanted anything so much.

Every component in his frame and circuitry strained as he backed towards the desk, dragging Hook with him. His connector popped out, sparking against his hip as his valve cover slid open, fluid dribbling down the inside of his thigh. He felt his chest plates loosen, a dull ache throbbing in his spark.

Hook let himself be pulled, pausing and pushing Scrapper to one side only to sweep an arm across the desk. Datapads, tools and architectural instruments clattered to the floor.

Somewhere, a tiny flash of concern flitted through Scrapper's processor for his precious tools of trade. But need straight away overrode it. Scrapper made no attempt to stop the little whimpering noises that were issuing from his vocaliser – or his obvious desperation as he tugged Hook on top of him. He wrapped his legs around Hook's waist, arching up against him.

Hook paused. He touched Scrapper's face, his optics burning with desire so strong (so long wanted) that Scrapper lunged at him hungrily, pulling him into a kiss. Hook obliged, kissing him urgently, his mouth hot and hungry. One hand clutched the side of Scrapper's helm as the other slid down Scrapper's side and along his groin seam, then to massage his thigh.

Scrapper squirmed into the touch. Every part of Hook felt magnificent. His spike was out, a throbbing ridge against Scrapper's middle. Hook's connector was out too; both their cables snaked between them. Scrapper's port sparked, his valve slicking with lubricant. He clamped his legs around Hook and sunk his fingers in, bucking his hips so components rubbed his port and the base of Hook's spike stimulated the cluster of nodes above his valve.

Hook became more passionate. He scrambled to get his knees on the desk and Scrapper loosened his legs, wriggling back to accommodate him whilst his hand found Hook's spike, rigid and hot and throbbing. He grasped it and Hook moaned, tilting his head back, rocking so that the spike went up and down in Scrapper's hand, sparking against his fingers. Scrapper moaned and grabbed at Hook's aft, his valve aching.

Scrapper _had_ to have that spike in him. He needed the connectors in, pumping energy and data. His chest was suddenly on fire, the plating too tight; e_verything_ burned and ached. Scrapper cried out as hitherto unknown components slid and realigned inside him. Data streamed into new fashioned files as standby upload instructions clicked and whirred. More lubricant oozed from various seams.

"Please Hook," he wailed, reaching for him, his voice heavy with emotion and static. "I want this now. I want _you."_

…..

He did, too. Their interfacing had always been 'pleasant' enough, but Hook could never have dreamed that Scrapper could be so – unrestrained. Well – he could, given that this was how receptors tended to be in this 'condition.' But even so Scrapper's unbridled lust, augmented by the gestalt connections, was an unexpected delight.

On his hands and knees above Scrapper, Hook moved his hips, pleasure rippling through his sensors as his spike moved up and down in Scrapper's hand. He dropped to his elbows and kissed Scrapper again, cupping the beautiful, unmasked face with both hands, twining his glossa around Scrapper's feverishly probing one. Metal squealed deliciously, their chests sliding hot together.

The wanting on every level was glorious. Scrapper's other hand wandered feverishly, finding Hook's connector, his fingers balling it into his fist. Hook's intakes hitched, his databanks swelling with urgent information as energy engorged his circuits. It gathered, tightening his chest as his spark flared like a supernova, ready to merge with Scrapper's.

Hook broke from the kiss and looked into Scrapper's face again, wanting - needing - to see again the beauty, the urgent desire. Scrapper's optics were liquid crimson, filled with the lust and love he felt. "Want you….want you every way, Hook …."

The emotion! It engulfed Hook like a wave, searing into his depths. He gasped, groping down, his hand finding Scrapper's connector as he whimpered himself, unable to contain his own energy field any longer. Sparks crackled as he released over his lover.

Even though not a full overload, Scrapper stiffened with the force of it, his optics going dim. Then his field flared back, uncontrolled. His fingers tightened instinctively on the spike and connector. "Oh Primus …" Hook moaned as more crackles erupted loudly and fluid spurted hard from his spike.

Scrapper shuddered beneath him as both of their residual charges shot back up, rising to a peak; more datafiles clicked into readiness; and now the replication program was poised, ripe, ready for initiation.

Hook ran Scrapper's connector over his own port, shivering at the intensity as he raised his hips, manoeuvring to get his spike into position. The surge that went through him was conquering, all possessive. "Oh Scrapper … " he whispered, hardly able to believe his own seething feelings.

Scrapper whimpered, moving wildly. His heels scritched at Hook's craneshaft as the spike grazed the entrance to his valve. Letting go of the spike, he grabbed Hook at the side of the helm, his optics glowing and desperate as with the other hand he fumbled with Hook's connector, trying to get it in his own port. Their chests flared hot and Scrapper cried out, arching his back. Chest plating grated and sparked, the sparksurge momentarily eclipsing the other needs as the connectors fell from their hands.

The universe went hazy. Static buzzed in Hook's audials. It subsided, and magnetic forces activated, drawing the connectors to the ports as lubricant gushed on to Hook's spike, which stiffened beyond bearable levels. A shudder went through them both. Hook's spark simmered; and all was ready, the charge gathering as the program hovered at the brink of 'execute'...

Except (and Hook could hardly believe it, but damn it he had to) warnings were flashing in Hook's emergency array – and he could not ignore them.

_Initiation sequence faulty._ _Likelihood of implant – 28%. Likelihood of successful program merge – 13%._ _Chance of aborted replication – 83%. _

_Advice: _**_abort now._**_ Advice – _**_critical._** _Initiation protocols require _**_urgent_**_ refreshment .…_

Despite the force of the urges, Hook paused and drew back, a stifled cry of both frustration and anguish issuing from his vocalizer. For should he not have well known this would happen? He, Hook, expert as he was in both the medical and pleasurable aspects of the replication process?

A prototype implant could just as easily misfire through a recipient being over eager as being afraid and ill prepared.

Scrapper was desperate beneath him; steam rose as he fought to get spike, ports, sparks, _everything _aligned. He was so beautiful like that, and Hook so much wanted him that he nearly succumbed. But wisdom overruled desire. Grunting with the effort, Hook threw a heavy block into place, effectively overriding his own sequencing.

"No!" Scrapper screamed, trying to shove in the connection - somewhere, _anywhere _- and at the same time pushing his valve up, trying to get Hook's retracting spike to go in. His other hand plucked at Hook's chest plates, pulling the edges of the hot metal. When Hook - wincing with effort - pulled away, Scrapper let go of the connector and flung his arms around Hook, pulling their chests together, squashing components between them in a last frantic attempt.

But now, the override sequence was well and truly in place, and Hook managed to wrest free. He sat up on his knees and straddled Scrapper, panting heavily. "Hush Scrapper," he rasped, clutching Scrapper's hand and with the other, stroking the distraught face. "Patience. This will happen. There just needs to be – a little wait."

"I can't wait," Scrapper wailed as tears began to leak out of his optics and run down his face. Hook could hardly bear it. "Hush, hush, hush …" he murmured, his voice wavery as he kissed Scrapper's hand and tried to stroke him soothingly. Scrapper whimpered and writhed beneath him, a picture of unrequited lust - and love.

"Scrapper …" Hook couldn't keep out the half sob as another massive sparksurge engulfed him. He took deep intakes and offlined his optics, forcing his protesting systems into a painful stasis. As he wrestled with his uncomfortably high charge and almost uncontainable emotion, he downloaded the facts – because somehow he had to reassure himself that what he was doing was right.

_Lesson … subject … replication … initiation sequence ….._ It was quite straightforward, really. SLOW foreplay was essential, during which time:

_- the valve aperture widens adequately, ready to open and allow entry of transfluid, thus creating the correct chemical environment within the carrying chamber;_

_- the 'whole of mechanism' data programs in each participant prepare for maximum information upload and mergence;_

_- the sparks reach a state of rhythmic pulse generation and at this point, connection is viable; _

_- when penetration occurs, the sparks will energy fragment, synchronizing with the data-merge process described above to simultaneously bring about physical protoform implant and life force creation …._

The words were dry and text bookish. Yet Hook whimpered tears as his feelings overcame him. _The process of life creation _– and it would be theirs! He collapsed on to Scrapper. "We have to get it right, we have to …" he gasped into Scrapper's neck, half sobbing. He squeezed Scrapper's hand tightly as he recalled the final stages of the instruction modem:

_Should the entire process be correctly conducted, this will be a pleasurable and joyous event – as opposed to an exercise swathed in disappointment through failure to initiate matters in the correct manner._

"What's wrong, _what's wrong?"_ Scrapper was frantic, trying to push Hook up. Hook raised himself to look at Scrapper's stricken face, and the crane's spark melted again. An almost unbearable desire swept through him, to have Scrapper just to comfort him, to feel him. But even that was too risky. "Scrapper," he whispered, stroking his face again, "we have to wait."

Scrapper stilled. His frame trembled. "Don't you want me after all? Is this not going to happen?"

"It _is_ going to happen …." Hook couldn't help it; he kissed Scrapper again, deeply, trying to let all that he felt somehow flow from the depths of his spark through his lips.

But that set the loader off once more. Scrapper kissed him back fiercely, and started to buck against him. His fingers scratched against Hook's chest panels, then went around Hook's neck, clutching the back of his helm. The force with which he wanted Hook caused the crane's charge to peak sharply again and his systems to fire up with renewed potency. _I have to do something, _he thought. _I can't leave Scrapper (or either of us) like this._

"Lay back …" Hook managed to inject a note of command as he pulled free, pushing Scrapper down and moving quickly to lie on his side, leaning on one elbow. His intakes sounded heavily as his hand glided across Scrapper's chest, then slid down his body, finding the node cluster above the open valve. Scrapper stiffened, whimpering. "Open your legs," Hook croaked.

Scrapper wriggled, crimson optics staring with anguish and need – but he did as told. He clutched Hook's arm – but did not try and pull him down again. His connector sparked, and Hook eyed it, resisting the urge to grab it and plug it in. "Divert all your energy to your valve," he said. "Relax and think of me in you, think of releasing through it …"

Scrapper moaned, opening his legs wider. Hook fingered around the rim of the valve, offlining his optics as his spike emerged, stiffening with renewed force. He eased his fingers in, feeling the well lubricated and primed inner nodes, imagining it was his spike plunging deep into the silky metal passage.

Scrapper tensed, arching up against the fingers, panting; his hand grasped Hook's wrist. This would not take much. And then (thank Primus in the firmament) Hook would come himself - explosively - in about two astroseconds flat ….

Hook reached the innermost levels of the valve vault. Charge surged through him, every synapse straining again to pull his fingers out and just_ fuck_ Scrapper, a prelude to the whole glorious sequence. His connector fell on his thigh, sparking, and his spark ached as his spike throbbed hard. He felt Scrapper's valve clench around his fingers as Scrapper moaned and arched further, uttering little strangled sounds of need.

"All right just let – yourself- go …" Hook murmured, barely able to articulate the words. He could not bear to online his optics, was too afraid that - warnings or no warnings - he would not be able to resist. He pushed his fingers in as far as they would go, feeling the aperture, relief rushing through him as he realized it was fractionally open and arresting desire – just a little. Even just spiking Scrapper would have really bungled everything.

Hook widened the gap between his fingers, feeling the metal stretch, willingly. Then he thrust hard around the aperture once, twice ….

Scrapper cried out, going rigid. He swept over the edge, rapidly, violently, his body erupting in a series of jerks as his valve clenched, lubricant washing around them. Powerful spasms sucked Hook's fingers inward. Metal squealed as the crane's arm buckled under Scrapper's grip.

Hook left his fingers in the valve, panting hard, the sucking sensation making him want to come so badly he nearly did – without any further stimulation. Scrapper's valve clenched again and again. He made noises with each contraction, his hands still clutching at Hook. Lust gave way to emotion, and Hook was moved again almost to tears at the vulnerability, the need for himself inherent in the desperate movements.

"Scrapper," he gasped, dipping his head to kiss the Constructicon leader's helm. "You're lovely." It was the only thing that came to mind as his lover's spasms went on and on and on...

"Hook ...?"

Hook onlined his optics to see Scrapper staring at him as though in wonderment. His valve still undulated around Hook's fingers. "That was – amazing," Scrapper whispered.

Despite the passion of just now, he sounded_ almost_ like his usual self – only uncharacteristically happy. In fact, he radiated a joyful bliss, his optics sparkling with new found wonder in the universe. Hook could only nod, offlining his optics.

The physical need that rose up like a fury in Hook again must have been obvious, however. "Don't you need to unload?" Scrapper whispered.

"Yeah …" Hook muttered. "You could say that was something of an understatement."

Removing his fingers, straddled Scrapper again, but this time up on his knees. His unsatisfied and engorged spike stuck out like a construction pole. He propped himself on Scrapper's hip. Then he took Scrapper's hand and fastened it around the spikeshaft, closing his own over it as he began to move it up and down in slow strokes.

_Oh that was bliss …_ Hook whimpered as he did as he'd told Scrapper to do, diverting all his energy into his spike, into the joy of a purely loin-based sexual release. He stole a glance at Scrapper, noting with satisfaction that the loader's optics were wide, apparently transfixed by his appendage - as though it were an object of worship.

Then Hook offlined his optics and thrust violently in time with the hand movements, needing this beyond all measure, surrendering completely.

It took no time at all. A few sparks erupted violently as Hook came rapidly to the peak. His intakes hitched and his systems seized momentarily, as he savoured the ecstasy of the brink; then he threw his head back and exhaled hard, crying out as release came - gloriously - and fluid cascaded over Scrapper, spurt after spurt, wave after wave of blessed relief.

…

Scrapper could hardly believe the amount of fluid covering his chest plates. They sizzled as steam and mechly aromas rose into the air. "I don't remember you ever coming as hard as that," he gasped – though he couldn't recall Hook ever getting him to that state either. _Primus - how will it be when we actually go all the way …._

That thought sent the loader's circuits tingling. But logic had taken over again, and Scrapper knew for certain that Hook had stopped for a reason, and not because of the silly conviction Scrapper had had at the height of it all, that Hook didn't want him after all. He determined not to think like that – if possible – and to find out as much as he could about the technical aspects of this process.

Hook was sprawled beside him on his back on the desk, still venting heavily. His spike was still out, though it had fallen against his pelvic plating. "That was just a start," he gasped. "Just a sample of how intense this is going to get, Scrapper – in every way. I think we should talk before we go further …"

"Which doesn't mean I don't want you …" leaning up quickly, he managed a crooked smile. "Just that I should have explained it all better. And taking care with the preliminaries – I think I can take us both to heights we haven't been before. And make a protoform - that's the object, of course."

Scrapper found himself filled with desire again. But it was choked with emotion by the 'p' word. How confusing and contrary this replication programming was.

"Hook …" he reached for the crane and Hook lay down with his head on Scrapper's shoulder. "It can sometimes take a few connections to get the implant actually," Hook said, stroking at Scrapper's chest plates. "But provided the sequence is right each time it all should be amazing – and successful."

Scrapper stroked his helm, overcome as much by the fact that Hook had never lain with him like this before (as he so often had wanted) as by everything else. "I want to get this right," he whispered.

And he could have stayed like that forever, warm and comfortable, whilst Hook began to tell him about the program, the bodily sensations and functions, the need for careful synchrony. But unfortunately, something else was breaking through. A clamour of voices and emotions – very familiar voices and emotions - hammered against the closed gestalt bond as message after message began to ping in Scrapper's processor.

Hook paused in his eloquent descriptions. "Oh pit," he murmured. "Did they have to arrive right now?"

But Scrapper felt suddenly protective. The Constructicons had returned – and he was their leader, after all. And what Hook had said earlier about them all being a part of the upbringing of his sparkling (_yes, his sparkling – he really was going to have one with Hook_) was suddenly firmly in his mind.

He stopped the stroking. "They want to know what we're up to. We have to tell them, Hook!"

And Hook could hardly disagree. He let out a sigh, his fingers straying over Scrapper's chest one last time. Then he sat up. "All right," he said. "Let's let them in. But lets get this over with as soon as we possibly can. All right?"

And Scrapper, his interface relays starting to twitch again, was not adverse to this suggestion.

Not at all.

...

_To be continued._


	4. Chapter 4

**~~Nesting~~**

**By Ayngel**

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I do not own transformers, or make any money from this story.

***Fic Content Warnings*:** M/M SEX; MECHPREG. This chapter - concept of mechpreg further discussed. Otherwise, this fic has very sappy parts, and other chapters contain explicit mechsmut (P&P, Spark, Sticky). Fic is about mecpreg, replication, problems in 'pregnancy,' offspring/sparklings and issues in youngling-raising.

**Contuinuity:** G1 Season 3

**Characters:** Hook and Scrapper (and all the Constructicons) and later, First Aid

**Summary:** Tempers flare and tension builds when the other Constructicons find out about Scrapper's receptive 'state.'

Many thanks to Anonfeather for being so helpful with this and for beta-ing.

And thanks to all readers and reviewers 3

* * *

**Chapter 4**

The sheer anger emanating from the other mechs in the room took Scrapper by surprise. He found himself shrinking back, any confidence in his leadership rapidly diminishing as the raised voices grew louder.

"How could you?" Scavenger was right in front of him. His tail swished angrily, the excavator's usual cheeriness replaced with undisguised fury. "You know how I feel about you Scrapper!" he yelled. "And I'd just like to know …" he gestured in Hook's direction. "What makes you think_ he's_ a better co-creator than _me?"_

Scrapper couldn't even think of a reply. His optics darted across to Hook. Right then, he wanted nothing more than to be beside him. But he could not even see Hook past Bonecrusher's large form, which positively scintillated with fury.

"So you really think you can protect him?" Bonecrusher's fists were clenched balls of tight metal. "Because that's what both him and this creation are gonna need …"

"He is such an _aft!"_ Scavenger threw his hands in the air.

"What you gonna do Hook? Hoist out your crane and swing 'im outta harm's way…. "

"Is that what you want?" Scavenger's hands were on his hips. _"Your creation to be raised by an aft?"_

"Look, Scavenger …" Scrapper began.

But Scavenger hadn't finished. "You've never listened to me!" he yelled. "You're not even listening to me now! Well I'm telling you, Scrapper, no-one's gonna blame me this time. When this is all over and he's left you get left high and dry-"

The door opened, and Scrapper's attention was diverted to the arrival of Mixmaster and Long Haul. Scrapper saw to his horror that the mixer sat down, his head in his hands. The distress in the ordinarily cheerful mech was obvious. "I always w-wanted to be a r-r-replicator," he kept repeating.

"There, there…can't choose these things, y'know?" But Long Haul's obvious efforts at consolation didn't seem to be working.

Scavenger and Bonecrusher kept yelling loudly their concerns – but Scrapper wasn't listening to them. Instead, he focused on Mixmaster's stammering: "I always wanted to r-r-replicate with Hook. What h-h-happened? Its S-s-scrapper's fault. He did this on p-p-purpose. He's manipulated his own p-p-programming."

_No!_ Scrapper started across the room. "Mix, I didn't - I wouldn't even know how …" but a green arm restrained him and pulled him protectively to one side.

"Don't buy into it!" Hook hissed. "Let's get outta here."

Scrapper nodded. He thought this a good idea – even if his instinct was to go straight to the stricken mixer. But their exit was blocked by Bonecrusher and Scavenger.

"How about we take this outside, Hook?" Bonecrusher's knuckles cracked. "I'd like that. Because if we don't sort this the right way then you don't have any idea what I'm gonna to do to you …."

"I hate you Hook," Scavenger was at his side, his face a livid mask. "I can't even think of you as a team mate any more …!"

"Get out of my way!" Hook snarled, sounding every bit as threatening. Scrapper found himself hanging on to his hand helplessly - pathetically - his ordinarily confident leadership programming completely overwhelmed. He was unable to muster even the thoughts to deal with this, as Mixmaster's lamentations became louder.

"See what you done? You ain't goin' nowhere …" Bonecrusher's fist thwacked into the palm of his other hand. He and Scavenger seemed bigger; menacing. More like the Decepticon warriors they'd become and less like the construction mechs they always had been and still were. The treads on their legs rippled aggressively.

"Very well then …" Hook growled and tightened his grip on Scrapper. His body stiffened as it always did when preparing for combat. It wasn't dissimilar to that; especially from the way Bonecrusher and Scavenger were advancing.

"That's ENOUGH!"

The authority behind the voice froze everybody. Turning back, Scrapper saw that Long Haul had risen, weapon in hand. Gone was the usually quiet and melancholic dump truck. In his place was the Constructicon coordinator, whose outbursts were rare but not unknown. He had taken this stance before, when Scrapper had been out of action.

And Scrapper was relieved at that moment – oh so relieved – that he had appointed Long Haul in that role; for at such times as this, the green masked form was a force to be reckoned with. So much so that the violence went out of Bonecrusher and Scavenger's optics and they fell meekly back.

"That's better …" Long Haul kept the gun trained on Bonecrusher and Scavenger for a few moments. Then he put it away. "Scrapper?" He jerked his head towards the now vacant seat next to Mixmaster. "Over there …. you need to give each other some tender loving care." Scrapper stole a glance at Hook, who squeezed his hand and nodded.

Scrapper let go of the hand and joined the mixer, who regarded him with haunted optics. But Scrapper couldn't return the look. His optics remained fixed on the others.

"Scavenger! Siddown over there."

"But…" the excavator protected.

"NOW!" Long Haul glared at him. "We need to clear up a few things around here. Mainly your _place_ in the scheme of things …"

The excavator went to speak again, but Long Haul's optic ridges furrowed. Scavenger gave up. He sat.

Long Haul turned to Bonecrusher and Hook. "And as for _you_ two..."

Bonecrusher's anger flared again. "We can settle it on our own" He snarled, taking a step towards Hook. The crane's fists clenched - but he found Long Haul between himself and Bonecrusher.

_Thank Primus, _Scrapper thought_. _He just did not know what would have happened if Long Haul hadn't done that.

"I really don't wanna get than gun out again," the truck growled. "Now you will cut this load o'pit and listen. Because _neither_ of you is gonna benefit from an all out scrap and _nor _do you wanna break your fist on my loading tray. _Believe me ..._

...

A few moments had passed. Scrapper could do little for Mixmaster, it seemed. Besides, he'd just_ had_ to recover enough of his leadership protocol to get up and stand beside Long Haul. Now he was doing little more than just standing. But at least he was _there …._

He glanced uncertainly at Hook and Bonecrusher from time to time, now sitting disgruntledly side by side. Scrapper was still glad of the quiet but determined authority of the truck next to him.

"First and foremost, we have _no_ idea how Galvatron's gonna respond to this," Long Haul was saying. "We know that Megatron would probably have accepted it – just. Although he'd probably have grabbed the protoform at seperation and had it whisked off to the war academy or some such thing …"

A chill went through Scrapper's spark. Could that kind of thing really happen?

Even when the others were shouting, wonderment at a _creation of his own _had still been flashing through his processor. Scrapper still could not believe he was actually welcoming that prospect. And – even crazier – his fleeting thoughts had been all about … well – holding the newly detached protoform in his arms and then nurturing it; guiding it into maturity. He hadn't even considered it getting taken away.

But he should - of course. They were Decepticons, weren't they? Creations were raised to be functional in the cause, not have nests made for them, and home comforts lavished. He glanced at Hook, wanting support – but his would be co-creator was staring straight ahead.

Scrapper's spark froze. Hook thought the taking away was a good idea! Did he? Scrapper didn't know. In fact, he realized with dismay that he knew very little about Hook's intentions at all, once the 'act' was over.

Oh how Scrapper wished the others hadn't come in, and that it was just him and Hook here now. He could have just lain here with him and they could have carried on talking. It wasn't just that Scrapper wanted to hear the technicalities. It had seemed as though he had never really talked to Hook before – and there was so much to say.

They must talk more – about this. Then, when they'd decided that their creation – their sparkling – definitely wasn't going to the war academy, they could recover their previous arousal and they could get on and bring it into being...

"Galvatron's that unhinged, for all we know we'd find ourselves branded soft sparks and on the receiving end of a fusion canon." The others muttered agreement with Long Haul, and Scrapper was again shocked to attention. He looked at Hook in alarm – but the crane was now staring at the floor.

"Already, I heard rumors that we ain't been too popular for hiding ourselves here," Long Haul went on. "That we've been taking too long with the base. If he finds out this is the reason …"

/_Hook!_/ Scrapper rasped into the com, unable to stay silent any longer. /What are we gonna do? I can't _not go ahead_ with this now. I – need it. But what if something like that happens?/

/It will be all right,/ Hook commed back. /Don't fret, Scrapper./ But Scrapper couldn't help fretting. And he wished more than ever that Hook was over _here, _that he knew what the crane was thinking.

"Hey – well Scrapper hasn't actually started the sequence yet, has he?" Scavenger now looked more cheerful. "I mean – he's still in pre-rep mode. If it's too much trouble, then why doesn't Hook just block things form going further? We could pretend the whole thing never happened – it would be just like before."

_No!_ Scrapper heard a stifled gasp come out of his vocalizer. This time Hook did react. His optics flared coldly. He went to speak - but Bonecrusher was already talking. "Oh yeah – right!" the bulldozer scoffed. "Have you ever been in the grip of a replication imperative Scavenger?'

"Have you?" Scavenger sneered.

"As a matter of fact…"

"Be quiet!" Hook snapped. "We all know that's not an option. Long Haul, you were saying?"

Scavenger gave both Long Haul and Hook a long, sulky look. Long Haul ignored it – and Bonecrusher and Hook's dark stares. Unhappy sounds issued from Mixmaster.

"Now fact is, it's happened," Long Haul said. "Dunno when, but I do know from what we just er …" he hesitated, obviously embarrassed, "from what we experienced then, even through the closed gestalt, that Scrapper's in an advanced stage of pre-replication, an' he needs to see the implant process through."

"We also know..." Long Haul held up a hand when Scavenger went to interject, "that – whether the rest of us like it or not, Hook's gonna be the co-replicator …"

Hook could not disguise his pleasure (or relief, Scrapper noticed happily). He smiled, smugly. "Thank you Long Haul…."

A fresh round of indignation ignited. "What – just like that?" Bonecrusher growled. "I thought we were gonna discuss this!" His fists clenched again.

"Yeah – where's the logic?" Scavenger protested indignantly. He got up, his tail twitching angrily.

They were all on their feet again. Scrapper could feel the tension building like the inside of a volcano. He did not _want this._ No – hell – he didn't like it at the best of times. A gestalt couldn't even _function _with bad feelings in the team, let alone reproduce various members of it. Even mechs like Onslaught recognized the need for cohesion and stamped out conflict at every opportunity – or tried to, anyway. And now …

"It's obvious, ain't it?" Long Haul snapped.

"It's not fair! That isn't a reason …" Scavenger complained.

"This ain't a discussion …" Bonecrusher snarled.

Scrapper had to say something. Was decision making still not his main function in the Constructicons? Besides which, this was a decision about _him_. "It's because I_ want_ it to be Hook!" He burst out. "I would always have wanted that. I'm sorry. It's how it is!"

And now they were all looking at him. And there was surprise there, and disappointment, but a respectful element, more like Scrapper was used to. Even Mixmaster seemed better. Which took a weight off of Scrapper; even more than when Long Haul had taken control.

"Look – I can see how you all feel," Scrapper said, tired suddenly and really wanting this 'meeting' over with. "And believe me, I didn't choose things this way. I didn't even know what was going on until Hook explained it. After that, I was all from insisting on a thoroughly logical evaluation. It was just that …"

And Primus be darned, if he wasn't coming over all emotional again, his spark paining in his chest. "I didn't – realize it would be this way. But Hook and I discussed it and we decided that … I decided that …"

"I'm sorry," he looked at Bonecrusher and Scavenger. The fire seemed to have gone out of them. "It's not that I don't …but it's my choice. I want Hook." And then emotion overcame him, and he became lost for words.

He found Long Haul's hand on his arm, then, closely followed by Hook's arm around him. He melted against the crane, offlining his optics and leaning heavily against him. And instead of angry words there was a different tone in the voices. "Hey buddy, I'm sorry .." he heard Bonecrusher mutter, and something from Scavenger that sounded like agreement.

"We need you all." Amazingly, Hook sounded emotional too. "As I told Scrapper, I may be the co-creator but you'll all have a part. And Long Haul's right. We need to stick together. We want this sparkling in our ranks. Not – taken away somewhere or …" his voice trembled, "worse."

"Besides," he went on. "Scavenger's right. What we did – it wasn't a success as you would also have sensed. There's still a chance that…" he hugged Scrapper, "we can't replicate together. In which case it will be open to somebody else to try."

Scrapper found himself not able to contemplate that possibility, so unbearable were the implications. But mainly, he was just pleased to be next to Hook, and to feel the familiar support again that now emanated from his team - his beloved team, his _family_ - who of course were a part of this no matter who was the co-creator. He onlined his optics to see Scavenger looking at him with wide and guilty optics.

Scrapper managed a thin smile. "It's all right Scav," he said. "I know I'm not - myself - at the moment. But we'll talk – later. But Hook's right – we're all a part of this.

...

Long Haul had departed with a somewhat subdued Scavenger. Scrapper was now talking to Mixmaster, who looked distraught again. Hook stole a glance at the mixer. A surge of guilt went through him. It should be him over there, because he and Mixmaster had had that _thing,_ and he had always promised...

"Hook – can we talk?" Despite the events of earlier, Hook was, at that moment, very glad of Bonecrusher's intervention.

"I just wanted to apologize," Bonecrusher muttered after they stepped outside. "Seeing Scrapper like that brought on the old urges. And it made me feel – protective."

It was really quite rare for the bulldozer to apologize. Hook nodded curtly, thinking that if it were him he probably wouldn't have done so. He didn't return the courtesy. He didn't like the 'old urges' part. Besides which, why would he deign with an apology? He had never _done _so before – and wasn't about to start now.

"I just wanted to see that you got the whole drift of what this meant," Bonecrusher went on. "And that whoever co-replicated knew what they were doing."

_"Excuse me?"_ Hook could hardly believe it. Any benevolence he might have felt evaporated instantly. "So what – you're an expert?" he snapped. No wonder he didn't do apologies.

But Bonecrusher laughed softly. A lopsided grin appeared on his faceplates. "You could say that. Look, I've had a few experiences with replication, both on the carrier and co-creation end."

_What?_ "Surely you can't mean you've – _had_ – a sparkling?" Hook asked incredulously.

"Couple, actually. Long time ago – before we all got together. First one wasn't meant to be that way but the other half of the equation decided she didn't wanna be the carrier …" he chuckled, "in those days I just assumed the femme would be. Funny how you change your tune over the eons, ain't it? Anyway yeah – there was that one. The second was an accident – but that was all right. I knew what to expect by then."

Hook was speechless. And a sudden rush of realization filled him. _How many other things do I not know about the team?_ Because yes - that was Scrapper's job, the 'touchy feely' stuff. Scrapper and Long Haul. Whereas he, Hook, had always focused - well – more on the functional mechanics.

Bonecrusher was still regarding him with amusement. "They weren't the easiest of replications. But they survived – believe it or not. Didn't see them for a long time, because in the end the co-creators raised them, and then they got jobs in other quadrants before the war," he grinned. "But that's been the great thing about Cybertron reconnecting with the Vicinity Worlds, ain't it? I saw them both lately. You should meet 'em some time!"

Hook still couldn't get over it. For four million years he had shared a spark box with this guy, not to mention a gestalt. And he hadn't known _this?_ Why hadn't it shown up in routine maintenance?

_But then it wouldn't, would it?_ Because after the sequence was complete and the protoform detached, the body returned to its normal non replicative function. No obvious traces lingered. Though now, Hook recalled that Bonecrusher had had a slightly expanded pelvic cavity – which he had put down to old injuries from the bulldozer's countless fights and brawls.

"Of course, that's just the two I carried," Bonecrusher was saying. He laughed, "a fraction compared to the ones I've co-created since I got tied up with you lot. That's why I thought you could maybe use my help."

Hook felt anger rising again. "You should have reported these instances!" he snapped.

"Why? Co-creators and I always went our separate ways. They did fine without me …" Bonecrusher chuckled, "for some reason they didn't want me around full time, reckoned I might be a bad influence. Which was as well, wasn't it? Never been on bad terms with most of 'em though," he grinned, "an' they never did forget the initiation."

Hook was still annoyed about the earlier 'implications.' "I might remind you, Bonecrusher, that I am a medic. I hardly need to be told how to do it. Especially in the context of somebody else's experiences!"

Bonecrusher folded his arms. "Yeah!" he said. "But it's never been your thing, has it Hook? You're a surgeon. An' lately, before this happened - if I've been seeing things right - you've been sending mechs outside the team with even a hint of a replication agenda straight off to First Aid."

"That's because we've been in combat. I haven't exactly had time for much more than battle injuries – in case you hadn't noticed!"

Although that wasn't, as Hook well knew, the only reason. Up until now, he'd always found the emotional stuff that accompanied replication utterly irritating to have to deal with. And First Aid was so infuriatingly well suited to it. Hook had preferred to make his referrals, and just forget about them.

But it wasn't the point. "I've also had a fair few _practical _experiences myself!" he snapped. "I do know how to organize my – equipment. And execute the other aspects of the program!"

A cynical leer appeared on Bonecrusher's faceplates. "You followed those 'experiences' up did you Hook?" He raised an optic ridge. "The implants were successful? The protoform development complete? The separation non problematic? The formative years a success?"

"Well, I uh …"

The truth was, Hook had no idea. His previous experiences had consisted of fierce attraction to the other party and a need to interface. The overwhelming urge to feel connection on all levels had - as with Scrapper - added an extra 'rush.'

But whilst the notion of another version of himself had also undeniably added a thrill, what happened after that was not in Hook's sphere of knowledge. None of them had been a team mate, or anyone close. In fact, 'distance' after the 'encounters' had been essential – seeing how all of them were Hook's patients.

"I'd be ready to wager that your past 'carriers' weren't exactly in a position to be 'parents' with you …" Bonecrusher chuckled.

Another uncomfortable fact was dawning. _He knows more about me than I do about him._ And that, of course, was intolerable.

"It's really none of your business!" Hook snapped. "And just because I'm a surgeon doesn't mean I don't know the replication sequence intimately! I'll have you know that I downloaded my old manual during the procedure with Scrapper, so I'm quite capable of looking at this in a scientific manner."

"Ah but that's just it," Bonecrusher said. "Scientific ain't always the best when it comes to this. "I mean – you're telling me you _downloaded _an _old_ manual _during_ the procedure? And you went on reading it _while Scrapper was overheating?_ Holy fraggin' pit Hook, that sounds so sexy. It must have been such a riveting lay."

The dripping sarcasm in the wake of what had hardly been a success was too much. Hook's temper snapped. "Well I guess this whole thing was a mistake!" he threw his hands in the air, the cranearm swinging, the hook clunking loudly against his shoulder. "I guess it had better be you after all, Bonecrusher. Or maybe not? Maybe it should be Onslaught or Motormaster? Because _that's _who he suggested you know!"

Bonecrusher's optics widened. "Seriously?"

"Why not them?" Hook shouted. "Why don't we give them a call? I'm sure one of them would be perfect. I'm sure they both conduct replication sequences in a _suitably unscientific way_."

"Hey chill, Hook! I already said it oughtta be you. I'm just tryin' to help …" a note of genuine concern had entered Bonecrusher's voice.

_I don't need your help,_ Hook wanted to retort. But now he thought that maybe, just maybe, he did. He thought again of the first attempt – and failure. It was true – there were several of the more subtle aspects of this reproductive business that he_ didn't_ 'get.'

And Hook did want this to work. His spark swelled with a sudden ache. He was conscious now of Scrapper's absence, the need for him, the need to recommence the sequence - successfully.

Bonecrusher seemed to understand. He clapped a hand on Hook's shoulder. "All I'm sayin' is you won't find the secret to success in text manuals," he said. "And you wanna make it even better? Well I know I ain't the universe's answer to a lotta things – but I do know about this. Why don't you just listen to what I have to say?"

Hook nodded. _Bonecrusher. Who would have thought it?_

"Very well then," he said. "But don't take too long about it."


	5. Chapter 5

**~~Nesting~~**

**By Ayngel**

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I do not own transformers, or make any money from this story.

**Contuinuity:** G1 Season 3

**Content: Warnings** for M/M sex, mechpreg. More discussion about the 'act of replication' in this chapter, and there is some tactile smut. Otherwise, this fic continues to be fluffy and angsty. Earlier and later chapters contain explicit mechsmut (P&P, Spark, Sticky).

Fic is generally about mecpreg, replication and problems in 'pregnancy,' but it is also about the changes individuals and groups have to make when mechpreg becomes a possibility within a gestalt, and how some have to discover what they really think and feel.

**Summary:** Bonecrusher's 'advice' continues, as Scrapper learns the truth about Mixmaster. Bonecrusher continues to surprise Hook (in more ways than one) - but the instigation of one his 'ideas' leads to more anxiety - and then some unexpected happenings.

**Characters:** Hook and Scrapper, Bonecrusher and Mixmaster. This chapter - Onslaught and Swindle put in an appearance. Later, First Aid, other Constructicons and other Combaticons are also around.

And thanks to all readers and reviewers 3

* * *

**~~Chapter 5~~**

"No manuals, Hook. No technicalities. This thing – it ain't about that. Its about mergence and mutual appreciation. Wanting to combine yourselves to make a life. You're not 'fragging' here. You're – _making love."_

As if there had not been enough surprises today. _That?_ From _Bonecrusher?_ But whereas before Hook might have scoffed, he'd now been forced to conclude – all be it reluctantly – that the bulldozer did seem to know what he was talking about.

Well – clearly. After they'd put to rest the possibility of other co-replicators, Bonecrusher had described the rest of the process. "You gotta feel your way along – make it happen in stages," he'd said.

Hook had frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Like – you don't just launch into it. The foreplay can take ages. Oh I know how tempting it is to just leap in – believe me – but the wait's worth it, I'm tellin' ya!"

Hook had clenched his denta, in a great effort not to allow annoyance at being 'lectured' – or the fact that he darned well _couldn't _wait - to overcome him again.

"Perhaps you could be more explicit!" he'd snapped.

"Well - like - you prep the carrying chamber and get that in order. _Then_ you establish the data connection and get the programming sorted. _Then _you have sparksex – get that energy flowing. _Then_ you put it all together. That's a whole lot better than tryin' to synchronize the whole lot at once, and I tell you what – _phew_ …" Bonecrusher had whistled. "When it does come together – you're in orbit."

"You do it all in a caring, sharing kinda way of course," he'd added.

Feeling annoyingly inadequate once more, Hook had wondered again if his former 'efforts' had ever actually implanted. A surge of emotion had gone through him at how much he wanted to things to work this time. He swallowed hard, masking it with a 'pragmatic' air.

"Can you go – er - _all the way_ with each of those things?" he'd asked, stiffly.

"Course! So long as the three systems aren't connected."

"Even with preparing the chamber?"

"Especially that!" Bonecrusher had grinned. "Provided the data merge isn't connected. Yeah – you can have some real fun warming up with that. Really go hard at it." He clenched a fist. "Nothing like a good ol' spike and valve release is there?"

That was more like Bonecrusher. But now, after the 'love' comment, Hook was confused. "Exactly – and when _you_ interface with us, its - like _that_, isn't it? It's not really – loving."

Bonecrusher laughed. "Yeah well, I like it that way with you guys. You like it too – especially you, Hook. It's a Constructicon thing ain't it?'

A philosophical look came about him. "Interfacing comes in many forms. And there's lotsa different ways to go about it, depending on the circumstances. Ain't there?"

Hook nodded, belying his thoughts. In his experience, that wasn't so. It was all quite simple: You built up charge. You found somebody. You explored them and fragged them – in whatever way that took your fancy. You enjoyed yourself, and it released the charge. You returned to normal.

Replication merely heightened the experience. That way things stayed uncomplicated.

Bonecrusher was looking at him. "Thing is, with you its always been – _functional._ Hasn't it, Hook? You've never really connected on the emotional side of things. With anyone. That's why we were pissed at first. Couldn't see how you could possibly wanna do this for anything but your own pleasure. You've always been – detached..." He clapped him gently on the shoulder, "perhaps you need to think about that now..."

Hook found his spark aching strangely again amid confused thoughts. It was true - but why was that suddenly an issue? Did he perhaps -_ want_ - it to be different this time? Had he even, perhaps, always wanted, in the back of his processor, something more with Scrapper?

Bonecrusher raised an optic ridge. Hook felt angry again. Bonecrusher had no right to criticize like this! Or make complications. It wasn't as though Hook ever had _complaints - _besides, his methods were the reason successful interfacing was part of routine gestalt maintenance – and sometimes patient care. "We've functioned well, haven't we?" he snapped. "And you seem to like it!"

"Oh yeah, we sure have …" Bonecrusher regarded him sympathetically. "But you got some lost time to make up for in other areas, Hook. You see - you gotta get to_ know_ Scrapper. I mean – really know him."

Now that _was _outrageous. Hook's temper snapped. "I'm Scrapper's second in command," he snarled. "He chose me especially – eons ago. We've worked together. We may not have 'come together' in the intimate way you're evidently so accomplished at, but I frag him on a regular basis. I have access to his intimate functioning and medical details." He glared at the bulldozer. "This is impertinent Bonecrusher!"

"I mean as a _person." _Bonecrusher rolled his optics. "Not just a leader or gestalt partner or even frag buddy – or even now as a co-replicator. You need to _understand_ him. Its kinda necessary if you're ever gonna understand your sparkling. And …." he rolled his optics, "you probably won't do that. But this'll help."

"Tell you what," he said when Hook didn't answer. I've got an idea. Mix is gonna need a bit of cheering up. I think we oughtta leave Long Haul to deal with Scavenger, but the rest of us? Why don't we have a night on the town?"

Hook looked up in surprise. He hadn't expected that. "You mean like – a date?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah! A foursome. It'll work wonders. Trust me."

Hook thought uncomfortably then of Mixmaster. There was a reason for avoiding 'involvement.' He had no wish to revisit it tonight, in that particular context. "I don't do _dates_," he said stiffly.

Bonecrusher grinned. "Well what say you just started!" he clapped him on the shoulder. "You wanna get yourselves in a nice mellow state of mind to start this thing properly? You wanna have Mix relaxed and not hung up about what went down before? There's nothin' better, believe me. Besides..." he grinned, "there ain't nothin' Scrapper likes more than wining an' dining."

_With who,_ Hook nearly blurted out. A hundred rekindled doubts flooded in; but then a new resolve seemed to rise form his depths. He would be 'the one' with Scrapper. Was that not essential if they were to 'get to know' each other? Other mechs should no longer be tolerated. Hook would see to it that the need for them was removed.

He regarded Bonecrsuher through narrowed optics. "I guess," he said curtly.

…

"I did not manipulate the programming, Mixmaster," Scrapper insisted. "Honestly."

At least he'd gotten the mixer to come back to the room; the one where the 'confrontation' had earlier taken place.

Before, Scrapper had explained how surprising events had been in the hope that it might make his team mate feel better. But Mixmaster had flounced off, stammering that he really didn't want to - _couldn't_ - hear any more.

Whatever else may be happening, Scrapper was still Constructicon leader. He'd gone striding after the mixer and demanded – firmly – that he come back.

But now, Mixmaster looked so sad again that Scrapper felt totally at a loss. "I know you didn't m-m-mean it" he said sadly. "I'm just – d-d-disappointed. You see Hook an' me - we kinda p-p- planned for this."

That was extraordinary news to Scrapper. "You did?"

Mixmaster nodded glumly. "We were c-close once a long time ago. He reckoned I'd go into r-r-rep mode some time, and I'd make a good – r-replicator." His face took on a wretched appearance. "I know that was a while b-b-back but I still l-l-love him ..."

Scrapper was shocked. He knew, of course, about Hook and Mixmaster's 'association' before the war, when Hook was an intern at Kaon Infirmary and Mixmaster was a pharmacist. He knew also that Hook had helped get Mixmaster's sentence reduced when he was jailed for drug trafficking, and had then helped him much over the eons as he wrestled with various addictions and afflictions.

He'd never realized things had gone that far. It occurred to him how 'functional' the gestalt bond could be, and how events that fell into some categories were most definitely not transmitted. Scrapper had to squash a sudden annoyance with Hook. This was, surely, something that _should_ have been drawn to his attention; especially given the current state of affairs.

Mixmaster still wore a wretched look. "I'm sure there'll be a chance in the future," Scrapper said, not now sure _what_ to say. "And then I - er - I won't mind if Hook co-creates that one as well."

_Although would I?_ The thought made him vaguely uncomfortable.

"No there w-w-won't," Mixmaster said miserably. "Hook said that with g-g-gestalts, the chance only comes up occasionally and when that happens, it never comes up ag-g-gain."

"But it might?" Scrapper ventured, feeling guilty for hoping Mixmaster was right.

"It w-w-won't. Its not just the ch-chance thing." Mixmaster's intakes let out a long, hissing sigh. "I've gone and m-m-messed myself up, Scrapper. Everyone always said I played around with too many of my c-c-concoctions!"

"Well I wouldn't say that was necessarily the case." But Scrapper really _didn't_ know. And now he wished Hook would get back here. What was he _doing_ with Bonecrusher?

"Oh well," Mixmaster sniffed," I s-s-s'pose I oughtta be pleased. I'm more g-g-glad its you than any of the others. And I'm glad its h-him." He brightened. "I can give you some stuff I've had ready. It helps the p-p-programming."

"That would be good," Scrapper said; though really, he would have confessed to some misgivings. Wasn't it irresponsible to take substances during a replication sequence? Not that Scrapper knew much about that, but he'd seen all the negative publicity. He didn't even _do_ drugs. It was as well, perhaps, that Mixmaster _hadn't_ succeeded in his ambitions.

But anything to comfort the mixer just now….

"Hope Hook doesn't to to you what he did to m-m-me," Mixmaster seemed to say it more to himself. "He's s-scared of getting close. That's why he n-n-never did. With anyb-body. He r-runs away..."

An uncomfortable shiver went through Scrapper. But he was relieved, enromously, that just then the door opened, and Hook and Bonecrusher came in. A surge went through his spark. He was too happy when Hook came over and wrapped an arm around him - possessively around him - to pay attention to Mixmaster's agonized expression.

Hook squeezed him. Scrapper melted inside. Right then Hook - and their future creation - were easily the greatest things that had ever happened to the Constructicon leader. And although infused with the notion that _this was ridiculous_, his spark sang with a sentimental longing never to be away from Hook again, or for them to have anyone but each other.

If only Mix's words didn't linger in his thoughts. _"He runs away..."_

_. . ._

A few moments later, Bonecrusher wore a lopsided grin. He had his arm around Mixmaster now which, to Scrapper's relief, the mixer seemed happy about - or as happy as he could be. _They are all precious,_ Scrapper thought, a flood of emotion sweeping through again. _My family…._ .

Hook pulled him close. Heat radiated between their bodies. Scrapper could barely contain his excitement. _This is it_, Scrapper thought. He could not wait for Bonecrusher and Mixmaster to go.

But other ideas seemed to be in play. "You're taking us all on a d-d-date?" Mixmaster was saying. His face lit up, happily. Confused, Scrapper looked at Hook for an explanation.

/Bonecrusher says we shouldn't rush things/ Hook said solemnly into the com. /And that we should get to know each other better before we – try it again./

Bonecrusher had been advising Hook? Apparently so, for Hook was now looking at the bulldozer, as though waiting for instructions.

Scrapper didn't know whether to be more amazed by that ot what Hook had just said. He savoured instead the extraordinary affection that now radiated from the crane, allowing himself to bask in what, he thought happily, he had secretly always wanted. It was like being blanketed by a cozy tarpaulin.

And what was this? Hook was going to – _date _him? At some point in the not too distant past, Scrapper may have laughed. Now, nothing had ever been more touching – or seemed more appealing.

Scrapper _loved_ eating out. How nice to share that with Hook - who never went anywhere, let alone with him. He should forget what Mixmaster had said. He thought of Hoist. Jilted lovers were always hung up - even when the jilting had been long ago.

"Just let me polish up a bit first," he said brightly, detaching himself.

...

As they waited, Hook found Bonecrusher looking at him with an expression more than merely advisory. The red optics glinted. "I have to say, the two of you are looking darned good," he said. "Of course, the carrier pretty much has to stick to the co-creator. But there's nothing to stop the co-creator from interfacing with –" he raised an optic ridge, "_other _partners. Especially team members."

Although the impending outing had helped to quell Hook's charge, Bonecrusher's inherent attractiveness plucked at his relays. It was magnified by long vorns of connection and - there was no real doubt - very satisfactory interfacing.

"I just wanted to make it clear that whatever I said earlier wasn't to mean that it wasn't good when we did it." Bonecrusher's optics coasted over Hook's frame, making his circuits sing. "In fact its_ real_ good. I've always found fraggin' you spectacular, Hook."

A finger traced down Hook's arm, spinning one of his wheels. "Don't be afraid to ask for a bit of relief – at any time you might need it."

Hook was tempted to shove him off, to punish him for being so _damnably composed_. Except that his interface circuits were throbbing, wildly; and hell – now his energy levels were going through the roof. Interestingly, invading notions of _how Scrapper might feel about that_ nagged Hook's thoughts - yet this did not stop him form itching to grab Bonecrusher, to demand his raging needs be quelled. If only they could just have a quickie...

Yes - that might take the edge off. Hell -_ something_ should; because how in the name of Primus was he supposed to sit in a restaurant like _this?_ "I'd like to …" Hook looked around - though in fact, the thought of Scrapper was now a lot further from his mind.

Before Hook could say more, Bonecrusher was kissing him sensuously, hands caressing Hook's helm, the bulldozer's hot glossa somehow snaking into Hook's mouth. Heat radiated as Bonecrusher's powerful body and huge treaded thighs pressed against his own.

Hook grabbed at the other's aft, grinding against him and kissing back with urgent enthusiasm. Bonecrusher's energy field throbbed with sudden intensity and Hook's charge stabbed in a sharp peak. His energy field flared. A blue wave laced with the faint crackle of sparks momentarily engulfed them.

"Ooh-ooh, nice!" Bonecrusher cackled, withdrawing from the kiss and using Hook's shoulders to steady himself. His voice was still husky with un-spent charge. A shudder went through him. "Whoo! That's what I've always liked, Hook – you're so responsive. You really turn me on. Now -" he backed away. "Straighten up. They're coming back."

Hook backed away, attempting to dissipate the haze of part-overload as footsteps sounded outside. A look of triumph was clear on Bonecrusher's face. "You're enjoying this!" Hook snapped, reflecting in annoyance that the bulldozer's own lack of overload would matter not. There was nothing the he liked more than holding off for spectacular climaxes later in the piece. _  
_

Bonecrusher chuckled. "Believe me, I'm gonna enjoy this whole thing almost as much as you."

…

In times to come, Hook would reflect that it was a little later, as the restaurant tinkled around them, that the sequence really began. He would conclude that the 'date' was both a turning point on an inevitable and intractable path, and something of a 'test.' But that had not yet happened. Not quite yet.

At that point - still early in the night - it was simply that, as the lights of Pavonia scintillated against the dark magenta sky and reflected on the water through the large windows across the room from where they sat, Scrapper, seated opposite, had never been more appealing.

Hook could not get over it. He'd never realized his boss was so – stunning. Scrapper's very voice sent currents zipping through his circuits. He could barely look at the unmasked face, now one of intricate beauty. It was not long before his interface relays were in knots, his spark throbbing in waves of sheer longing. The episode with Bonecrusher seemed already distant, an irrelevant triviality.

The more the evening wore on, the more Scrapper's appeal seemed to blossom like the flames of a fireigniting. After a while, Hook looked away, afraid that his cables night pop, blue light might suddenly burst forth from his chest in a radiant show of glory. He shifted, awkwardly. Darn it - in all his eons of interfacing with the gestalt – and out of it – he had never reacted like this! Especially to Scrapper.

And it was _not_ just the replication prospect, Hook was certain. A kind of wonder accompanied that fact; yet Hook reeled at the implications, the loss of his carefully nurtured control, so evident at the start of this. It was – unnerving. And, right now, downright inconvenient. Worse, he seemed powerless to stop it.

Scrapper, however, seemed perfectly composed. On the contrary, he seemed to be having – fun. He chatted, comparing the restaurant – Praxian owned, apparently, by those who had sought to authenticate a Cybertronian environment - with other lesser establishments. A rapt Bonecrusher and Mixmaster listened attentively.

Hook injected coolant, trying to dial things down. But he couldn't seem to lessen the effect. Scrapper's so _eloquent,_ he found himself thinking. So – _amazing._ Eloquent and sophisticated and amazing - not to mention _excruciatingly_ hot. Every bit as much as the Autobot Grapple.

Hook's optics followed Scrapper's gesture towards a mural next to the servery. The words 'excellent reproduction' were directed at a 3D image of Praxus in the Golden Age. He was filled with pride at Scrapper's knowledge, his cleverness, the ease with which he moved in artistic realms.

Yet dark things stalked, specters lurking in wait. Medicine and battle injuries were Hook's domain- not aesthetics. The differences between them, his own adequacy, rose again, a demon hiding in the shadows. _You don't really know him... _the conversation with Bonecrusher echoed.

Hook sighed. Chest aching, he poured a drink in an attempt at distraction. This was Scrapper, fror Primus sake. _What had he started?_

Another look at Scrapper, a sharp sparktwang._ What if its not like this for him? What if he changes his mind? A_nd worse:_ What if the failure early was evidence of our - incompatibility? _ Whatever this was, it _had_ started - at least for him, Hook thought wretchedly. He dreaded, most of all, that 'it' would be taken away.

Scrapper was expounding arches and spires. A steady heaviness grew. A waitmech appeared and handed out menus. Hook noticed Scrapper's hands, the splendid crafting, the intricacy of the fingers. His mind went back to earlier, before their 'attempt,' to when he'd watched Scrapper and fantasized about their creation. Scrapper brushed his helm as he smiled at the waitmech. A cascade of rippling currents burst from Hook's spark and he nearly cried out.

"Sir?" The waitmech had a kind, uncomplicated face. Hook took the menu, his chest throbbing.

"What do you think?" Scrapper's optics were upon him from the other side of the table. "I must say, this feels kinda weird," the loader chuckled. "I never thought I'd be in here on a date with you, Hook."

Hook despaired. He sounded so – unaffected! Passion turned to seething doubt as, the dark things that swirled inside rushed up and surfaced.

"Have you been in here often?" Hook had to know.

Scrapper looked taken aback. His smile disappeared. "Yes," he said. "Quite a few times."

"With Bonecrusher?"

"Sometimes. He goes with Scavenger and Mixmaster to Rubycon more often. That's more his scene."

"What do you _do_ on these dates?" It came out more sharply than intended.

Stunning magenta optics regarded Hook. He fought down more of the previous sensations. "We usually just talk…"

"About what?"

"About projects. And politics. Sometimes I bounce ideas off my - companion. And sometimes I ask their advice …"

But then Scrapper changed too. A look of fear came about him, of dismay. "Why the third degree, Hook?" he whispered.

"I'm just interested!" The change was - discomforting. Hook felt himself soften. Yet - well might Scrapper look dismayed! Other dates_. __Bouncing ideas_ - had Scrapper not noticed Hook was half dying there just now with need and desire, with – _worship_. "I'll bet that's not all you do on these occasions!" he blurted out.

Scrapper's face went ashen. he glanced around, as though afraid they had an audience. But Bonecrusher and Mixmaster were busy discussing the menu. "Why do you have to be like this?" Scrapper hissed. But at once, his optics turned liquid. /You're afraid of this, aren't you?/ He whispered into the comm. /You're going to run away – just like you did when Mixmaster got involved! I've been trying to take my mind off it tonight because I can't bear to think of it. But it's true, isn't it?/

"So, what's it to be then?" Bonecrusher broke in cheerfully. Mixmaster smiled beside him, unaware he was the centre of discussion. Scrapper turned away from Hook, turning to the mixer and pointing out something on the menu. But his face said it all.

A 'look' came over Bonecrusher. He darkened. /_Now_ what?/ he growled.

Hook tore his optics away from Scrapper. His spark now ached unbearably, in a different way from before. /Why didn't you tell me the rest?/ he spat at Bonecrusher.

/What _rest?/_

/These_ - feelings. _This spark stuff. The fact that I was going to get insufferably jealous; _and_ the fact that _they'd_ been talking/ His optics flickered to the other two.

Bonecrusher let out a big sigh. /Oh mech,/ he said. /I always knew it was gonna come to a head one day with you an' Scrapper but nobody ever listened. I can feel things through the bond.../ he appeared to think for a minute. /Look - this is just_ new_. For both of you…/

Hook was suddenly angry again. /This was a _stupid_ idea!/ he snarled. /As soon as we've eaten, I'm outta here._ Don't_ try and change my mind./

/Scrapper might not WANT to go./

/No doubt he won't! I'll go alone./

/HOOK!/ Bonescrusher's expression was murderous. /He LOVES you.../ he sighed again, /do I have to spell it out?/

"All looks p-p-pretty good to me!" The glazed look in Mixmaster's optics made it clear that he'd had plenty of high grade already (and probably more). He seemed to be having no trouble now 'dealing' with the situation. Meanwhile Scrapper's optics deliberately avoided Hook.

/TALK to him!/ Bonecrusher growled. Grabbing Mixmaster's wrist, he pulled the surprised mixer to his feet. "We'll place our order at the bar and get some drinks whilst these two make up their minds!" Before Mixmaster could protest, he was hauled away.

Hook's mind was reeling - but now Scrapper was looking at him in such a sparkfelt way that he could not have stayed angry if he'd tried. All the feelings came flooding back - yet with a new found warmth that seemed to chase the shadows away. Reaching across the table, he took Scrapper's hand, feeling the other mech tremble as he did so. Hook took a deep intake. "I just want this so much ... I hardly know what I'm saying or doing," he muttered. "I'm afraid..."

He stopped, shocked at the sound of his own voice. It sounded so - odd, darn it. Especially coming from him. Ridiculous, in fact! _I've blown it,_ Hook thought. And now I look like a total jerk - but Scrapper's intakes hitched. The beautifully crafted hand closed around his.

"Hook - Scrapper whispered. "I'm afraid as well. I'm not used to this. I'm - a Decepticon leader. I've always been in control. You and I - I don't ..."

And then, something - _happened._ It was as though time stood still, as though a cocoon surrounded them suddenly. It seemed that - for a moment - together they were transported away from the restaurant, to a place where it was just them and things were - easier. _I do want to understand you,_ Hook heard himself say - except he didn't say it out loud - yet Scrapper understood. _Yes - you too_ - Hook undertood that, even though Scrapper's lips never moved.

Scrapper's optics widened. _What is this, Hook ...I don't understand...  
_

_Neither do I...  
_

"We don't have to stay too long…" Scrapper was saying. "I mean, I wouldn't have thought of it at all, until Bonecrusher suggested it."

"OK..." But it was then that a commotion sounded from the direction of the entrance.

"Ch-ch-check it out!" Mixmaster was returning with an armful of drinks. His enthusiasm was evident.

The spell broken, Hook looked up, as heads turned towards the door. He froze...

Two mechs had come in, one large and imposing, the other smaller and a bright shade of yellow. Expensive weaponry gleamed as it was detached and handed to a fawning waitmech, who laughed as though whatever they said would have that effect, whether it was funny or not.

More restaurant staff hovered nearby, seemingly not able to do enough. The first one bowed before he departed, accidentally scraping his chestplates on the barrel of the huge gun. The others burst into fresh mirth.

The big mech turned and said something to the yellow one, who grinned wickedly. The waiters' sycophantic laughter filled the restaurant, mingling with mutterings from the nearby tables.

Scrapper gasped, and Hook gritted his denta. The wondrous sensations of_ just now_ might never have happened at all.

"Onslaught and Swindle!" he growled.


	6. Chapter 6

**~~Nesting~~**

**By Ayngel**

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I do not own transformers, or make any money from this story.

**Contuinuity:** G1 Season 3

**Content: Warnings** Repeat for whole story: , angst, fluff and in some chapters contain explicit mechsmut (P&P, Spark, Sticky). Fic is about mechpreg, replication, problems in 'pregnancy,' offspring/sparklings etc.

No particular warnings in this chapter other than a continuation of the above themes and some serious angsty complications for the whole situation.

**Summary:** Still on their 'date,' Scrapper and Hook struggle with new feelings, confusion, conflicting programs and jealousy.

**Characters:** Hook and Scrapper, Bonecrusher and Mixmaster. This chapter - Onslaught, Swindle, Vortex, Brawl, Blast Off and First Aid.

And thanks to all readers and reviewers

* * *

**~~Chapter 6~~**

Oh dear. And the night had just turned from good, to bad, to just plain excellent only a few moments ago. One look at the new arrivals, and all threatened to turn to scrap; for Scrapper had been left with no delusions at all about Hook's opinion of the Combaticon Commander.

And Scrapper _so_ didn't want things to go bad. For during their 'moment,' a miasma of almost forgotten recall had revealed with vivid clarity that nothing was new about the feelings he had for Hook.

_Their first meeting. Party. Mixmaster's. Hook showed up. Colleague from the hospital – or so the chemist had explained... _

_Hook's engineering background. His brilliant mind. A great addition he'd make to the site team – if he could be 'sidelined' from medical practice…_

_Scrapper wanted him in other ways. Feelings were mutual. That time - Scrapper pinned in the backroom, succumbing, whimpering and clutching at the crane as overload sizzled through his circuits…._

_Hook went 'cold' after. He went off with Mixmaster. It didn't happen again. Not till Megatron; not till the gestalt. Then it was different…._

Always, though, there'd been the potential for more. Scrapper had wondered, earlier, if this replication thing had happened because of that. He realized now that his earlier euphoria had also been because of that. But Hook had gone distant, and Mixmaster's words had echoed again, the memories all too clear.

Dismayed, Scrapper had immersed himself in architecture; the comforting familiarity of what he did well.

Then here'd been Hook's 'questioning,' and Scrapper's despair that this whole thing _simply would not work._ But then - Hook's admission and _that moment_. Hope had blossomed afresh.

But now…

Heads turned as Onslaught, all hugeness and gleaming military might, made a beeline for the table. Beside him, Swindle was a gleaming picture of yellow cuteness and appeal.

Hook was positively seething - Scrapper could tell. The loader's spark sank – yet he was annoyed. Could Hook not see how Scrapper felt? How it was between them? Could he not desist for _one evening_ with this stupid paranoia?

Apparently not. _Just grab him and leave._ Scrapper thought. That might be the only way. And now was the chance.

Only things got more confusing, for Scrapper found he could not do that. No – his coding was shifting, his leadership program asserting. And now he felt - better; for Onslaught was one like himself, with whom he must interact – commander to commander. Relief flooded Scrapper at another familiar strength, untainted by confused emotions.

Onslaught was at the table. Scrapper stood up. Onslaught held out his hand, a pillar of power and purpose. Scrapper took a deep intake. "Onslaught," he nodded, pleased at his strategic, professional tone and feeling – with some surprise (he had to confess) – nothing more than that.

But it seemed Hook's fears were not ill founded. "My word," Onslaught said, his hand lingering around Scrapper's. "You're looking splendid." Scrapper shivered as red optics coasted over his frame. Beside him Swindle's purple orbs sparkled, a grin spreading over the dark face.

_A creation would cement our alliance._ The thought was definitely there. For a moment, it was almost tempting. But there was movement at the table, and Scrapper was aware once more of his furious would-be creator, of Hook's _extreme_ displeasure. Torn between desire and sentiment, strategy and logic, now was the moment. Scrapper had to choose.

Strategy didn't win. "Thank you," Scrapper said matter of factly. Smiling firmly, he withdrew his hand. "You're not looking bad yourselves, actually. It is a pleasure to see you in these excellent surroundings."

"Indeed," Onslaught chuckled. He leaned closer. "I am very partial to them After all, it was _you _who introduced me."

….

Scrapper had – changed. Just like that! Now he was acting as though Hook wasn't even here.

Folding his arms, the crane glowered deliberately as Scrapper shook Onslaught's hand, his denta clenching at the obvious flirtation that followed.

Swindle's approval was evident – and now Bonecrusher and Mixmaster were getting up. High fives with the yellow mech ensued, followed by laughter and back slapping. Still leaning forward, Onslaught said something else to Scrapper, but Hook couldn't hear it. Good. He remained in his seat.

The Swindle trio sat down, breaking into happy conversation. _Traitors._ But Hook's focus was on Scrapper. He boiled inside as Onslaught's entire focus went on the loader. Keen red optics gleamed brightly in the military frame. What were they saying? Hook couldn't help it, he turned up his audios.

"I must say you're looking most well, Scrapper," It was that smooth voice, the one so many found irresistible (_apparently_). "Last time we met I thought you looked – stressed. Now you're positively glowing."

The restaurant seemed to turn, as Hook's circuits turned heat to ice. He heard Bonecrusher chuckle loudly, Mixmaster cackle behind him. He saw Scrapper was smiling, as though - _entranced_. And then – as if this could actually _get _worse – Bonecrusher stood up again. He whispered in Onslaughts' audial.

Onslaught's optics lit up with delight. "Oh I see!' he boomed. Hook's circuits froze again as he took Scrapper's hand again. "Well congratulations, _congratulations._ That is good news. Good news indeed!"

It was the last wire. Hook flew to his feet. "Excuse me!" he snarled. Without a word more to any of them, he strode from the table, past Swindle and Mixmaster, past the over curious patrons and the smirking waiters, and out into the Delta Pavonian night.

…

"Hook! Come back - don't be such a cog…"

But Hook kept walking, ignoring the heavy clank of Bonecrusher's feet on the concourse behind him, the heads that turned as he stormed past.

/Go away!/ he commed. /Go and set up the match you want. I'm sure it will be very good for the Constructicons. Oh yes – didn't _I_ say that? Why you bothered with all that stuff earlier I shall never know!/

"HOOK!" They had reached a narrow point in the concourse. With surprising agility, Bonecrusher zapped ahead of him and blocked his path, shoving him to one side. "What the hell are you playing at?" he yelled. "I thought you guys were sorting it?"

Hook could hardly believe his audios. "Apparently not!" he roared. "In case you didn't notice, that proved impossible with certain _intervention." _His fists clenched._ "_I'm sure your military pal back there will work wonders. Go set it up – you don't need me. And thank you, Bonecrusher, _thank you very much,_ for divulging all our personal information!"

He went to push past. Bonecrusher dodged in front again, shoving him back. The bulldozer looked puzzled for a moment. Then he burst out laughing. "Oh damn – you know what I'm like when I've had a few drinks – can't make myself clear to save my life."

"Get-out-of- my-_WAY_…" Hook would land him one, he swore it, if this went on any longer.

"Woah, no - Hook…that wasn't what you think…" Bonecrusher held up his hands. "I told Onslaught about landing the contract for the Feline Palace. Just as you – _departed_ - he was asking if there was any chance we could build the Combaticons a similar abode."

"Look –" he went on, "Onslaught's always a smoothie. He's like that with everyone – all the 'bats are. Scrapper was about to talk business – until you carried on like a retard, that is." He shook his head. " I dunno what'll happen now - Scrapper's most unhappy."

Like a dark cloud lifting, a little of Hook's ire departed, relief flooded in like a sweet panacea. His spark panged briefly, but it was soon replaced by - Hook couldn't help it - an undeniable sense of satisfaction. Scrapper ought to be unhappy! He wasn't getting off. And neither was Bonecrusher.

"Oh yes – our favorite commander would like that!' Hook snapped. "He carries on like royalty. Well Scrapper can go and live in it with him, perhaps? I'm sure they could give a creation a much better start than I could."

But at those words, Hook's spark hurt again. Seriously. Clutching his chest, he bent over. "This is too scary!" he yelled. "I can't deal with it. I want to stay as we were. If this – _replication_ - means all this, then the hell with it. Let Onslaught have his way."

Bonecrusher laid a hand on his arm; then his own green arm went around Hook's shoulders, squeezing him gently. "Pit – I never realized…" the bulldozer muttered. "You've always been so cool and confident Hook, so detached. But underneath…" He shook his head. "You've surprised me this time. Who'd have thought?"

The noise of footfalls and muted chatter continued around them, the revelers of Pavonia unconcerned about this crisis. Music wafted distantly, a mournful lament to the hopelessness of it all, the stupidity.

And stupid it was - just plain stupid – this whole thing! Yet Hook felt fluid prick at his optics. "Well I certainly didn't think it," he said wretchedly. "I just thought the sex would be good."

Bonecrusher laughed sympathetically. "At least you're honest," he said. He took a deep intake. "Look – Onslaught ain't the slightest bit interested in replicating. He's got – plans. And we'd do well to keep him close. Don't think Galvatron's gonna lead the Decepticons forever. Already his support base …"

Was it Hook's imagination, or did the passers by seem to pause, was there a little more interest all of a sudden? Bonecrusher glanced around. "Let's go back. I can explain – or Onslaught can do that himself."

Just how much did _all_ the others know that Hook didn't? Hook's anger rose again. "I'll pass on that," he snapped. "I'm obviously not in the _inner sanctum._ And I'm still not convinced that the _Commander's _motives are as pure as you suggest!"

Bonecrusher let out a long sigh. "Look - I'm not gonna say this again. I don't think there's any doubt you're gonna replicate and I don't think there's any doubt that there's more happening too. I have _no_ doubt at all that its _fraggin'_ hard! But for the sake of the Constructicons – for Devastator – can't you try and hang things together?"

Hook felt his spark churn. His optics were misty. "I go back in there, I'm gonna look like a jerk, aren't I?" he muttered.

"Naa!" Bonecrusher slapped his arm gently. "I said you'd had a medical emergency – and I've just told Scrapper you're fine and we're coming back. He's not _quite _so anxious and despairing." Tilting his helm, the bulldozer grinned lopsidedly. "Honestly – what am I gonna do with the two of you?"

Hook digested that. "I just wanna get Scrapper out of there," he growled.

"Yeah…" Bonecrusher said. "I think on second thoughts that's a good idea. But just try and be nice for a little bit longer. And have some fuel – it'll work wonders."

….

Thank Primus, Hook was coming back. Scrapper's leadership liaison protocols had managed to keep him focused just enough; but all the while he had been talking to Onslaught, his optics had been shifting to the door, his mind on his comm, wanting nothing other than to call Bonecrusher and find out what was going on.

_Medical emergency_. Onslaught hadn't believed it. Nor had Scrapper's agitation gone past him. His optics had followed Scrapper's as Hook had left. "Team!" he'd said, his optic on Swindle. "As you rightly said a while back, Scrapper, they sometimes need some firm handling."

_Did I say that?_ Scrapper couldn't recall. And then, he'd reeled inwardly. _Oh primus, there _was _that time that Onslaught and I had a few here then went to Rubycon. Was it then? Or was it after that, when we…"_

Scrapper didn't want to think about it. Hell, Hook didn't even _know_ about it. Nor did Bonecrusher for that matter – not that Scrapper could remember it much himself. _Primus don't let them find out…_

Hook. Scrapper's thoughts still whirled. _I should have stuck to the team. I shouldn't have fragged Grapple - or anyone_ _There were times, through all these eons, that it could have been more … but whenever I've wanted Hook, he hasn't been there. Whenever he's wanted me, I've been cold and leaderish… _

_…Hook demanding more interface time, Scrapper saying no. Scrapper deciding that more interface time between him and Hook would be advantageous and Hook saying no_.

A series of misfires, interspersed with resentment and extra-team affairs. _Yet we're so close_, Scrapper thought. _Well when he comes back I'm going to lay it down the line. I'm still his commander. I'm going to tell him how I feel, and also what I think of his – behavior. I'm going to put an end to this nonsense. I'm going to…_

"Are you – all right?" Onslaught was saying? He wore a look of amused curiosity.

Scrapper picked up his drink. 'I'm fine!" he said snappily. "Tell me – exactly where were you thinking of locating the new base?"

As Onslaught began to tell him, he noticed – thank merciful Primus – that Bonecrusher and Hook were back.

….

Thankfully, the restaurant patrons were too interested in their own affairs to bother looking at Hook. As they came back in, Bonecrusher waved. Hook was surprised to see Vortex, Brawl and even Blast Off seated at a table by the window – a prime position, overlooking the glittering harbour. Vortex and Brawl raised glasses back, grinning.

"I didn't know the Combaticons did family outings," Hook mumbled, noting with dismay that Swindle and Onslaught were still at the table with Scrapper and Mixmaster.

"Ah well – they get around," Bonecrusher said. "Like I said, it'll do as well to stay in with 'em. Strategy, you know? And Tex owes me a favor." He chuckled, "there's the little matter of that protection we're gonna need."

/Hook, what happened?/ Scrapper sounded anxious. Hook glanced at the table. He didn't _look _anxious, still sitting there with Onslaught, as cool as anything. Hook seethed again. No matter what 'wasn't going on', he could not face the Combaticon commander at close quarters.

"I think I'll get another drink," he said, trying to sound matter of fact.

Bonecrusher sighed. "All right," he said. "But don't take too long about it. I have to see Tex. I'll try and entice his fellow Combaticons back to their own table."

"I don't think I can handle another scene," the bulldozer muttered. Beside Hook, Vortex was a paragon of sensibility.

….

Raucous laughter erupted from the Combaticons at the window table, and Scrapper noticed that Bonecrusher had joined them. Otherwise, the sounds of the restaurant tinkled around them. A waitmech appeared and looked them over. "We're not quite ready yet," Scrapper waived him away.

Swindle got up. "Better get over there," he grinned, jerking his head toward his team. "Or they'll have drunk the lot before I get a look in." Mixmaster raised his glass. "Thanks for saying you can move some of my produce," he giggled. "B-b-back in business, eh? Hey, wait up - I'll come say hi to Tex!"

"You really wanna do that?" But Swindle was grinning broadly.

Something told Scrapper he should have been more concerned about what he'd just heard. But he was too glad that they were leaving. He went to get up, to say his farewells – but Onslaught showed no sign of going. He rose, but instead of following Swindle, moved around the table to sit down next to Scrapper.

Onslaught settled himself in the seat vacated by Mixmaster. "Actually, I've a request – something I was gonna ask both you and Hook," he said. "But since that unruly mob by the window will soon no doubt require my attention, I'll come straight to the point. Galvatron's support is waning …"

This was really, really important; or so Scrapper's leadership coding made clear. But Scrapper could not keep his optics off Hook, as he waited at the bar.

The crane's back was expressive - impatient looking. The cranehook dangled dangerously. Scrapper had not missed his expression before. _Any moment now he's going to turn around and see Onslaught sitting even CLOSER,_ Scrapper despaired.

"…I'm fortunate to be no longer bound by the loyalty programming that was such a curse with Megatron," Onslaught was saying. "A foolish slip on Galvatron's part – as was giving Swindle medical training. Swindle's not bad – but its hardly his scene. He needs some help with the program's permanent eradication. D'you think Hook would help him? Scrapper?"

"Oh yes, yes, he – uh – he'll be right here in a minute, we can ask him," Scrapper smiled nervously, turning back his attention. "This uh – it sounds very interesting…"

"Oh it is, believe me," Onslaught cut in. He picked up his glass, observing how it sparkled in the lights. "You see, its not just Galvatron who's faltering. I have it on good authority that the Rodimus administration is in serious trouble." He chuckled conspiratorially. "That naive wannabe Prime wants to watch his back. You never know who might be hovering in the wings, just waiting for the chance to take back Cybertron, now do you Scrapper?"

"No, that's right …" Hook now appeared to be arguing with the bartender. _Don't turn around _Scrapper pleaded silently_. _He daren't say anything on the a great effort, Scrapper prioritized the leadership program. " I – er – I didn't think you were a creature of politics, Onslaught," he said.

"Who says its me?" Onslaught's guffaw startled Scrapper. But, mercifully, the commander pushed himself back from the table. "I just might have been asked to provide some uh …" he raised an optic ridge, "military support. Should the need arise."

Hook had gotten his drink. He was fumbling in an arm compartment, whilst other customers fidgeted irritably behind him. Any moment now, he was going to head back here. Any moment now, he was going to see Onslaught sitting there and …

"That sounds brilliant!" Scrapper raised his glass, pushing his chair back as far away from the commander as he could manage. "Just let me know if us Constructicons can possibly be of assistance!"

…..

Hook was aware of other customers jostling around him. He hoped they didn't have as much trouble with the bar staff as he just had. It had taken that ignorant fool three goes to get his drink right. There was no doubt about it; he and Scrapper were off right after the meal.

The crane's relays had started to tingle again. He now seriously needed to get back to Scrapper, to get this show over with. They would sort this out – they _would._ Onslaught had better be gone at last by the time he was done here…

"Hey – Hook. HEY!"

Darn it, now what? Who could Hook possibly know in this place?

Hook turned sideways – and found himself looking at red and white panels. Very blue optics regarded him from a masked white face. "Well I'll be darned," he muttered.

Next, he was being hugged, warmly. "Its so good to see you out!" First Aid was smiling happily. "They said you were on Delta Pavonus, but I hadn't come across you at all. I was honestly beginning to think you must have left the Constructicons, Hook."

"Well, I'm rather glad I came out then!"

As had always been the case, the other medic relaxed him. First Aid was like that. He injected wellbeing as thoroughly as Dirge induced misery – even in Hook. "Can't having folks thinking that, can we?" he chuckled, feeling his programming shift strongly to 'medical liaison mode.' "Not when I'm thinking of starting a practice here."

And Hook was, of course. But with everything else that had happened, he hadn't even thought of that – for ages. Now, what a refreshing, positive thought it was.

"How exciting!" There was nothing but happy encouragement in First Aid's tone. That _was_ First Aid, refreshing and positive. Well Primus only knew, if things had turned out differently, if Scrapper and then Megatron hadn't come along, then this was the mech Hook could have ended up with…

"It is _really_ good to see you," First Aid was saying, his optics sparkling. "Honestly Hook – I couldn't have asked for a nicer surprise."

"Well me neither …" but it was then that in his periphery, Hook caught sight of Scrapper. And the Combaticon commander, who although now at least sitting at a respectful distance was nevertheless _still there._

Hook's programming snapped back. He knew his optics flashed angrily. The look of joy disappeared from First Aid's face, to be replaced by one of genuine concern. "Anything wrong?" he asked anxiously.

Hook stole another glance over – but at just the same moment, Scrapper chose to look at him. Their optics met momentarily, and a pang went through Hook's spark. But almost immediately a look of outrage appeared on Scrapper's face. He had spotted First Aid!

And even though Hook _knew_ that it truly wouldn't help, and that Bonecrusher would be _furious,_ smug satisfaction spread through Hook. It was long over between him and Aid, of course - no matter that a small white hand had appeared on his arm now. But how appropriate that Scrapper might get a taste – just a small taste - of how he, Hook, had been made to feel tonight.

Hook was aware of a wry grin on his face as the idiot bartender returned, no doubt dismayed by his continued presence. This would be a satisfying exercise indeed.

Hook turned charmingly to his one time lover. He patted First Aid's thigh. "Nothing wrong!" he said brightly. "Why don't I get you a drink?"

First Aid beamed. "I'd love one," he said.


End file.
